


She's Smitten, Kitten

by rexerei_writes



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: F/M, Kittens, fluff in a literal sense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-31
Updated: 2015-07-31
Packaged: 2018-04-12 05:28:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4467134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rexerei_writes/pseuds/rexerei_writes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Robin is observant and Gangrel has a secret or six.</p>
            </blockquote>





	She's Smitten, Kitten

Gangrel was well known around the barracks, that much could be certain. He was, if no other words could be used, odd. Kept strange hours, little company, made no friends nor tried to draw much attention. One could go so far as to say he kept his head low, perhaps in response to the ever-constant number who would prefer it on a platter, rather than tucked between two hunched shoulders. 

For Robin, however, his oddities had a method to them. She’d since observed his changes in posture, and how they’d related to his moods, or the moods of those around him. So it was no surprise that she knew the moment she saw him that day that he was hiding something. Shifting eyes, hurried pace, shoulders up to his ears, hands drawn into his chest. She wondered briefly if he was afraid of something, but it couldn’t be the case. After all, that would require his trademark nervous-yet-shiteatingly-annoying grin to be plastered across his face, where instead sat a slight frown. 

As much as she hated to admit it, she didn’t know what it meant. She’d prided herself on being able to diagnose her comrades’ emotions at a glance, able to tell when Chrom was feeling particularly cheerful, or Lissa mischievous, or Sully- well. ‘Punchy’ was as much an emotion as any for Sully. Even the newest (and often, formerly counted as ‘deceased’) members of the army were subject to her watchful eyes. 

Gangrel, most of all. 

Put simply, she didn’t trust him. Misdirection was an art to him, manipulation as commonplace as a greeting. She could barely even tell his faked smiles from the genuine. So as she narrowed her dark eyes at his back, she made a swift decision. 

He wouldn’t falsify his intents with her this time.

 

He felt eyes on the back of his neck and grit his teeth. The damnable tactician, again. Watching, watching, always with the watching. It was like having your mother hover over your shoulder constantly- ‘Not that I would know.’ Came the unbidden thought, before he shook it away. No, no pity parties. Not today. 

‘Today,’ Gangrel thought, feeling the light weight of the small bundle at his chest, ‘is special.’

He wove through the training fields of the barracks the way he wove lies- carefully, but not hesitantly. He caught a few dirty looks, no surprise, and someone who felt bold that day tried to trip him, but the extended foot was easily avoided. It was times like these that he was almost grateful for the low expectations placed on him by the average soldier. A washed up former noble, a wounded snake, some other pathetic example he would think of when he had the time.

The utility areas of the Shepherds garrison passed into the living spaces, then finally into the well cared-for living quarters. His was down a long hall, away from the others. It suited him fine, now more than ever, and he swept aside the door open breezily as he entered. 

“Come on, then, time to eat.” He said, and no fewer than six sets of eyes fixed on him.

One mother cat, flopped lazily on her side, short black fur as shiny as jet, surrounded by five kittens, siblings in shades of black, orange, and white. The latter all mewed in offset harmonies, bounding clumsily over to him. He scolded them gently.

“Ah, ah. Mother dearest eats first. You know the rules.” He said, at last moving his hands away from his chest, looking at the paper-wrapped hunk of raw pork that would no longer be entering that nights stew. “Eugh.” He said, nose wrinkling the slightest bit. “I’m glad this is yours, not mine.”

He had little difficulty striking up a conversation with the four-legged furballs who had claimed his room as their new home. He’d found the mother alone in the barn over a fortnight past, now, belly heavy with her litter and the rest of her rail-thin with hunger. Gangrel had never considered himself much of an… animal person, but he’d felt something clench in his stomach when he thought of her out alone, hungry, young mouths to feed. Something terribly familiar. And wholly unwelcome. It hadn’t taken much to coax her up into the relative safety of his room. 

Days later, he’d returned from morning training to find his sheets ruined, and five blind, blessedly healthy beans curled into the mother cat’s side upon them. 

He’d felt a rush of exhilaration, even in the face of a terribly awkward laundering, a sort of pride. And now he’d grown as used to them as he was used to weight of his cape- currently hanging on the post of his bed, half-splayed onto the floor, a slight comfort to the kittens who hadn’t quite managed the leap from floor to bed yet. 

In less than a minute, he was equally sprawled across the floor, pork and mother cat a few feet away, the five siblings using him as a playground as they waited for her to finish eating. The smallest had nested on his chest, and now watched him with big, yellow eyes. He was smitten, truth be told, but he’d never admit it. No, none would even know of the deeply elusive soft side he possessed-

The creak of the door’s hinges were a cue too late, giving him enough time to twist his head gaze from the bundle using him as a pillow to meet the suspicious eyes of the tactician. Robin. 

There was a long few moments of silence as she took stock. Then, all at once, the kittens mewed and he hissed “Shit.”

 

All things considered, ‘kittens’ had not been on the list of things she thought she would find in Gangrel’s room. Instruments of torture? Perhaps. A complicated and wholly evil set of plans? Who knows? One former tyrant doing… whatever former tyrants did? Of course!

Him on his back on the floor, squirming, mewling, bundles of joy? It was unexpected. And adorable. She detested being wrong but somehow this was… pleasant. A nice surprise. And then he swore and the kittens struck up a chorus of meows and she quickly stepped inside and shut the door behind her. 

The cat she presumed to be the mother stood stock-still, watching her. Her babies, on the other hand, made a wobbly beeline to her, with the exception of the smallest, who had made a home on Gangrel’s chest. 

She didn’t speak for a moment as the cats began to cluster at her feet, but finally managed. “You… you’re not supposed to have pets in the barracks.” She blinked, cheeks burning. She had, evidently, left behind her ability to speak what was on her mind the moment she spied the animals. “I mean- you- why do you have these? How did you get them here?” She hardly even meant to sound accusing, but then his jaw tensed, eyes narrowing a bit. 

“Oh, forgive me for not letting their mother starve in your stables! I’ve learned my lesson now.” He whispered tersely, trying not to disturb the runt. Another few tense moments passed as his hard look morphed into a worried scowl, looking away from her. “Are you going to tell the good Sir Glareington about them?” 

Frederick, she surmised, was this ‘Sir Glareington’. He would have them removed from the barracks, of course, probably. Where they would go, she hadn’t the foggiest. “I-“ She said, but was cut off as one of the kittens began to bat gently at her boot, turning so sharply that it lost balance and tumbled onto its side with a distressed noise. She gave them all a good look. Bright eyes, no sign of malnourishment. The mother had settled down and begun to eat again, and she realized that the unidentified food source must have been what she’d seen him clutch to his chest. Stolen from the kitchens, from the looks of it. “Have you been taking care of them?” She asked finally, sliding carefully down so cross her legs, offering the most daring of the kittens a new perch in her lap. 

Gangrel looked her over, look softening the slightest bit. “Perhaps I have. Who’s to say.” He was being frustrating again, and she gave him a chastising look that was far less dire with, now three, fuzzballs clinging to her robes, trying to climb all the way to her shoulders with little success. He snorted suddenly, bursting into laughter that was unlike his usual cackles. 

She realized with a start that she’d been wrong the entire time. There was an obvious difference between his faked smiles and his real ones.

Robin had simply never seen a real one before.

She was doomed from the start.

**Author's Note:**

> i may continue this, i may not. it's been laying around for awhile.


End file.
